


Shut Up and Kiss Me

by sdk



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Anal Sex, Background Hermione/Ron, Hand Jobs, M/M, Rimming, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-21 23:35:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14295900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sdk/pseuds/sdk
Summary: There's a reason Harry walks an extra ten blocks to go to the shops and it has nothing to do with onions.





	Shut Up and Kiss Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lq_traintracks (lumosed_quill)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumosed_quill/gifts).



> For the purposes of this AU, Harry is not Teddy's godfather nor did Harry know Teddy's parents, etc. Thank you so much to the amazing bixgirl1 for the beta! This is a gift for lq_traintracks that was supposed to be posted for her birthday…last year. It's even too late for her half-birthday, I think? But we'll go with that! Happy half-birthday/belated anniversary/spring?! Or you know, just because. ;) ♥

It's quite ridiculous. Harry says this to himself like it’s going to mean something. Like it's going to stop him from walking the rest of the way down the block and opening the shop's door. Hold his breath for a moment. Wait for the bell to jingle, announce his presence. Wait for the bloke behind the cash register to look up and prepare to greet a new customer, then break out into a smile when he sees it's one of his regulars. 

(Harry likes to pretend that smile is only for him, but he's caught it on those lips for Mrs Mcnarry and Mr Gillian. They're in their 70s, both divorced, and both very obviously shagging like rabbits, or at least shagging like 70-year-old rabbits, so _really_ there’s no reason to be jealous. It's quite ridiculous. But so is everything in Harry's life nowadays, it seems.)

The bloke's name is Teddy. And Teddy calls Harry, Mr Potter. Doesn't matter how often Harry's corrected him, Teddy just smiles and shakes his head and says, "It's policy, sir. Don't wanna get me sacked, do ya?" And he winks. 

(Harry hasn't ever seen Teddy wink at Mrs Mcnarry or Mr Gillian.)

It's that bloody wink. The first time it happened, Harry thought his dick might've jerked all the way out of his jeans. He was thankful to note that wasn't the case; everything was still zipped up and tucked away where it should be. Perhaps a bit harder. And throbbing. Just a little. 

All right, it's not just the wink.

It's the whole nineteen going on sex god package, if sex gods were made up of thin wiry muscles, spiky blue hair, and a smile that just won't quit. Which in Harry's mind, they should be. They should all look like Teddy. 

Which is why he keeps coming back to the shop around the corner. (Really ten blocks over and five blocks down from his house, passing two perfectly serviceable shops along the way. But who's counting?)

He makes quick work of picking out ingredients for the night’s dinner: chicken, beans, tortillas and cheese. But he lingers in produce, because behind the stacks of melons is a straight view of Teddy’s back as he rolls tins of meat over the scanner, checking another customer out. Harry pretends to carefully examine a melon even as his eyes drift down over the small tie of Teddy’s apron, resting above his arse. His jeans are tight enough that Harry can easily imagine its firmness. He doesn’t realise he’s fondling said melon until he hears a polite cough to his right and finds Mrs Mcnarry waiting with her cart next to him. 

“If I could just…” she says, reaching over. Harry blushes furiously and nods, taking his fondled melon and moving out of her way. 

He doesn’t even like melons. 

_Enough, damn it._ He quickly picks out the produce he actually needs and queues up in Teddy’s line. When Teddy sees him, he beams. 

“What’s on the menu tonight, Mr Potter?” 

“Mexican. I’m having friends over, so I thought I’d do something different.”

“Mm,” Teddy says. He licks his lips. Harry’s mouth goes dry. His dick throbs. He thinks he could die on the spot and be all right with that. “I adore Mexican.”

“Quite good, is it?” Once the question is out of his mouth, he wants to snatch it back for how stupid he sounds. 

“You’re cooking it, but you’ve never had it before?”

“Oh yes, I have. Just. It’s quite good. I agree,” Harry stutters. He feels all of fourteen, remembering how he crushed on his best mate, Cedric. Once he realised his feelings were much more of the sexual variety than the friendship kind, forming words seemed a skill he couldn’t manage whenever Cedric was around. Eventually they drifted apart, all because Harry couldn’t bloody speak properly. He’s discovered that cleverness only comes to him in writing. And never around shaggable blokes. 

More’s the pity.

But Teddy’s still smiling at him as he gives Harry his change. Their fingers brush. The simple touch feels electric. 

“Enjoy your meal, Mr Potter.” 

“You too,” Harry says, then quickly, “I mean, your evening. Enjoy your evening.” 

Teddy laughs, not unkindly, and even after he’s helping the next customer, he pauses to wave at Harry as he leaves.

_Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks._ Harry grips his bags and makes his way back the ten blocks to his house. He’s passed up a brilliant opening, of course. He could’ve invited Teddy ‘round. Offered to cook for him. _I adore Mexican_ , he’d said. It was the perfect opportunity. 

Harry snorts. He must be more delusional than normal if he thinks Teddy would actually be interested in having dinner with a geezer like himself. 

Ridiculous. Bloody ridiculous.

~*~

“How’s the book coming?”

The chicken sizzles, but unfortunately not loud enough to drown out Hermione’s question. She’s standing next to Harry at the stove with a glass of red from the bottle that she and Ron brought over. Ron’s attention is on the telly. Harry wishes Hermione was more interested in football than his stalled career, but that’s a dream that’s never coming true. 

“If you’re going to nag, could you make yourself useful while you do it?” 

“I wasn’t nagging. I was asking. What do you need?”

“Chop up the tomatoes and an onion, if you could.” 

Hermione knows Harry’s kitchen as well as he does and she moves with ease, finding the cutting board and grabbing a knife out of the block to get to work. Harry cherishes his friendship with both of them, he really does. But sometimes Hermione can be…

“At least I’m not asking about your love life,” she says. Harry tries to stifle a sigh; he fails. 

Ron, who is currently cursing out the telly for a bad call made by the ref, is usually so laid back, Harry sometimes wonders how they work as well together as they do. Perhaps their energies cancel each other out. He feels a pang about them sometimes. Wishing he could just find a nice bloke, settle down. Have what they have. Though whenever he expresses anything near that thought, Hermione digs up someone completely boring to set him up with (how she knows so many dull gay men, Harry can’t fathom), so Harry’s learned to keep that particular feeling bottled up when she’s around. Ron, sweet Ron, just slaps his shoulder and says “You’ll find someone, Harry. Don’t worry so much.” 

Don’t worry so much. If only it was that easy. 

“My love life’s just fine.”

“You’ve met someone?” Hermione’s eyes light up and Harry groans at his own mouth because he should have just kept it shut. “Because if you haven’t, a new professor just started up in the English department and he has that way about him.” 

“The gay way?” Harry barely resists rolling his eyes.

“Well, I haven’t asked after his preferences, but I could? I just have a sense about these things. I knew about you—”

“Before I did,” Harry finishes for her. “I know. But no, no English professors, please. I’ve decided to focus on my career for the time being.” Not that Harry really has had much of a choice in the matter as his only romantic prospect is a 19-year old shop clerk, and “prospect” is perhaps stretching the truth a little too much even for a fiction writer who is comfortable with worlds of fantasy. But it’s something Hermione can’t argue with. He knows her well. 

“That’s good, Harry. Certainly your agent will appreciate it too, though I do wish you’d consider shopping around for another. I know Luna’s your friend, but—”

“How are those tomatoes coming?” No need to go down that route if he can help it. 

“Done. Except I couldn’t find an onion.”

“Really? Did you check the bag?” Harry reaches down the counter and pulls his shopping bag close, but all that’s left inside is a melon. His fondled melon. His brain can’t help it, and he instantly pops back into that moment, staring after Teddy’s arse, imagining how it would feel beneath his palms. Squeezed. “Crap, must have forgotten the onion. I’ll just pop out to the shop and get one.” 

“Oh, we’ll survive without.”

“No we won’t.” Now that Harry’s got the idea in his head, he’s antsy to go. God, how pathetic must he be to get this excited just for another glimpse of Teddy. For another chance for their fingers to brush when he pays, for another chance to say something completely daft and blush like a schoolboy. 

“Harry, really, it’s not—”

“It won’t take a minute.”

He dashes off before Hermione can protest again, sputters out a quick explanation to Ron on his way, and is out the door in a flash. His heart races like he’s running a marathon. _Ridiculous._ But he can’t help himself. He smiles on the brisk walk over, a silly little smile that he keeps hidden by tucking his chin to his chest and watching his boots scoot along the pavement. He only feels a small pang of guilt as he passes the first grocery shop (he’d be back in five minutes if he just stopped there); the second barely registers. And finally he’s turned the corner and heading towards _the_ shop, _Teddy’s_ shop, when he sees a bloke leaning against the brick a bit away from the entrance, a fag hanging from his lips. 

And that unmistakable blue hair. 

Teddy isn’t wearing his green apron; he’s down to his jeans and a skinny white tee. It’s half tucked into his waistband at the front and hanging out the back. Something so carefree about it. So _cool._ Harry’s old button-up and relaxed jeans feel frumpy and ancient in comparison. 

“Mr Potter!” Teddy takes a drag and flicks the ash when Harry approaches. “Two visits today?”

“Oh no, just having a walk.” Harry doesn’t know why he lies. It comes out of his mouth before he can think properly, what with all the attention Teddy’s bringing to his lips with each puff, temporarily short-circuiting his brain. Is it more pathetic to forget an onion or more pathetic to lie about it? (Probably more pathetic to travel all this way, but he’s rather given into that, hasn’t he?) 

“Are you on break?” Harry nods to the cigarette and Teddy offers it to him. And for a second, it’s tempting. His lips where Teddy’s have touched. Have sucked. Harry has never been a fan of tobacco, the smell of it or the taste. But that doesn’t bother him tonight. Still, he shakes his head no. 

“I’m off for the night.”

“You should call me Harry then. Since you aren’t technically at work.”

Teddy considers this. “All right.” His lips quirk up at the corners. “Harry.”

A thrill shoots through him; his stomach does a little jump. 

“Do you want to grab a drink?” Teddy says this so casually, like it costs him nothing to ask. “I was supposed to meet up with a mate, but he didn’t show, and I’m tired of waiting on him. If you aren’t busy. Your dinner’s over?”

“I…” Harry blinks. He’s already forgotten about Ron and Hermione, sitting in his flat, waiting for an onion that nobody desperately needed. He should really get back. Pop in to the closer shop. Finish cooking the dinner he invited them to, for fuck’s sake. 

But Teddy steps closer, cocks his head to one side, and gives him a lopsided smile. “Come on. You live around here, right? Take me to your pub.” 

“Yeah, all right,” Harry says. He says a silent prayer for his friends to forgive him. 

Teddy stomps out his fag and beams. “Brilliant.”

~*~

Since Harry’s actual local would give away the fact that he does not indeed live around here, he leads Teddy to the first pub they come upon, The Hogs Head. It’s a mistake; Harry realises it as soon as they push through the door. The place is mostly empty—not a bad thing in and of itself—but the few who do populate a smattering of tables, huddling in the corner or dotted along stools at the bar, skew old. A woman in the corner hides her face inside a voluminous hood and chain-smokes, if the overflowing ashtray in front of her is any indication. A man in snakeskin boots and a silver-grey mullet holds court over a couple old codgers and Harry winces when he hears the word “cunny” come out of his mouth. Paint peels from the walls in places; the hardwood floor warps on the pathway to the bar. The only thing familiar and comforting is the the football game on the telly. But that makes Harry think of Ron. At least he’s likely to be too caught up in the game to notice how long Harry’s been gone. Too bad he can’t say the same for Hermione.

Teddy raises a brow. “This is your pub?” All Harry can do is shrug. 

“Er, it’s not always—If you want to go elsewhere—“

“No.” Teddy waves him off. “Let’s get a drink.”

“On me,” Harry says, and then he can’t say anything at all because Teddy slips his fingers into the back pocket of Harry’s trousers. They linger, brushing against Harry’s backside, until Teddy finds what he wants, and pulls Harry’s wallet free. 

“I’ll go get them,” he says, waving his prize. “You find a table.”

Harry nods and takes a breath. Maybe that’s just something young people do—take wallets from people they barely know? He should be annoyed, but he can’t seem to find it within himself to mind. Instead he glances around the pub. There are plenty of empty tables, but Harry picks a booth with a view of the bar and furthest away from the snakeskin bloke, then pulls out his mobile. Hermione will likely be ringing Scotland Yard if he doesn’t at least tell her and Ron he’s all right. 

_Something came up and I won’t be back for a while. Stay and eat if you like! I’ll explain later. Sorry…_ Harry knows he’ll be in for it later, but he sends the text anyway and puts his mobile on silent. He looks up in time to see Teddy chatting with the barmaid. She’s the type that looks as if she’d rather go twelve rounds with a rattlesnake than smile, but she laughs at something Teddy says—her whole face lights up as she does so. Harry isn’t surprised. Teddy could charm the snake. 

Teddy makes his way over to the booth grasping two mugs of ale with two shots pressed perilously between them. Harry holds his breath until he makes it to the table and gingerly sets them down. 

“You could have helped carry,” Teddy says, but the sparkle in his eyes says he’s teasing. 

“And miss that balancing act? No way.” It’s the closest Harry can come to actually flirting. Pretty pathetic, if he says so himself.

Teddy tosses Harry’s wallet onto the table as he sits. “The shots were free by the way. Told her it was our first date, and she insisted.” 

“What?” There’s a loud thudding in Harry’s ears. Teddy breaks out an amused smile.

“Relax. You look like you’re about to have a heart attack. Have I outed you? To your local?”

“I—you know? I mean…”

“That you’re queer?” Teddy gives him a look. “Call it an educated guess.” 

“You haven’t outed me. To my local.” Technically it’s true. And it isn’t as if he hasn’t been out with a man before, to his local…it’s just been a while. Too long. 

“No pressure. I just said what I said because I like free drinks.”

“Right.” Harry can taste the disappointment in his mouth. He swallows it down with his shot as Teddy finishes his own with one gulp. It’s sharp, spicy, and burns rather pleasantly on the way down.

“Something new she said, called Fire Whiskey. A bit tame for that name, I think,” Teddy says. He licks his lips and Harry can’t help but stare at the swipe of his tongue over his lower lip. “Tasty, though.”

“Yeah,” Harry says. “Just tame enough for an old man like me.”

“Please,” Teddy rolls his eyes. “You’re not old.” 

“I’ve got a decade on you. At least.” More than, but Harry can’t bring himself to admit the full number. 

“More than,” Teddy agrees. “Still doesn’t make you old. Experienced, maybe.”

“How do you know how old I am?”

“You left me with your wallet. You think I didn’t peek at the license? Your picture doesn’t do you justice.”

Heat rises to Harry’s cheeks. “Does anyone’s?” he manages to blurt out. Teddy laughs. 

“True. Besides. I’ve looked you up. Even read a couple of your books.”

“Oh?” Harry tries to calm his rising heartbeat, but he feels more naked than if he’d been stripped of his clothes and was standing in the middle of the pub, starkers. 

“You’re good.”

“Thanks.”

“Really. I’m not much of a reader, but…I’m not blowing smoke up your arse.”

Harry chokes back some ale. “I…thank you.” Harry badly wants to ask which books…and if his recent foray into gay fantasy is one of them, but he just as desperately wants to get out of the heat of the spotlight. “What about you?”  

“I’m on a bit of a gap year. Only not really. It’s just what I say when people ask.”

When _people_ ask. But not Harry. Harry suppresses his smile. “How’s that?” 

“Well truth is, I’ve never been interested in university. Lectures and books and endless studying—“ Teddy fakes a yawn. Harry thinks guiltily of what Hermione the university professor would think of him nodding along, then guiltily of her and Ron abandoned at his flat, onionless. Maybe it would soften the blow if they knew he was on a date. Sort of, anyway. 

“I’m saving up. For travelling.” Teddy takes a sip of his beer.

“Where do you want to go?”

“Anywhere.” Teddy throws his hands up. “Everywhere. Someplace other than here. Ever been to Romania? I’ve heard there’re dragons.”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “Oh really?” 

“Stop looking at me as if I’m mad. It’s true!” Teddy laughs. The sound delights Harry all the way down to his toes. “All right, all right, it’s probably not true, but don’t you want to find out? See it for yourself? The pyramids in Egypt, the mountains in Iceland, the clubs in Ibiza, the brothels in America.”

Harry spits out a swallow of his beer. “Brothels? In America? Don’t most people go for…Hollywood? Movie people? The Big Apple?” Harry’s voice trails off as he realizes he doesn’t know anything about any of these places. 

“Boring.” Teddy declares. “I’ve heard about this brothel in…what’s it called—San Francisco? There are these men—this one bloke can suck his own cock.” 

Harry’s spine tingles. His mouth goes dry. It’s ridiculous, how he feels, just from Teddy’s lips forming the word ‘cock’. (With ‘suck’ in the same sentence, his brain helpfully adds.) 

Teddy leans forward, as if sharing a secret. “Wouldn’t you pay to see that?” 

“Who-who told you about that?” Harry’s voice cracks. He clears it and pretends he had to cough. 

Teddy shrugs. “A bloke.”

“Same bloke that told you about the dragons?” 

Teddy cracks a smile. “Oh sod off, you.” He throws a napkin in Harry’s face, but Harry snatches it and wipes the corner of his lips

“Cheers,” he says, rather cheekily if he does say so himself. Teddy rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. He’s smiling. And it’s the best thing. Harry knew that already, of course, from the shop, but getting to know this Teddy, the real Teddy, outside his crisply tied apron and relaxed, but always formal chats over checkout—to see his adventurous side—his teasing side. It’s something that fills Harry with…happiness. 

And lust, too, Harry adds inwardly, his mind skipping back to the way Teddy says ‘cock’. So casually dirty. So free. Easy. 

“No offense, Harry, but your pub is shit boring. And way too straight.” Teddy says this with another smile and it doesn’t bite. And honestly, Harry has to agree. Teddy gulps back his pint. Harry mirrors him. 

“It’s just the closest,” Harry lies. He feels guilty about it though, for the first time. Just picking a random pub to keep up the pretense that he doesn’t go out of his way just to visit Teddy. Harry glances around. The snake-skinned boot man’s left, but there’s another threesome of grey-haired fellows gathered in the same spot. Sad old wankers. Watching football. Shelling peanuts. Drinking ale. Welcome to your life in twenty years, Harry thinks, looking up just in time to see Liverpool score the winning point. The sad old wankers don’t even cheer. 

“You ever play?” Teddy asks, following his gaze to the telly. 

Harry shrugs. “At university. A long time ago. I wasn’t that great.”

“Bollocks. You’ve got the body for it.” Teddy stares, boldly sweeping his gaze down Harry’s chest. Harry’s both thankful and annoyed that the table gets in Teddy’s way. 

“Let’s get out of here,” Teddy suddenly says. His eyes sparkle. Harry doesn’t dream of saying no. 

“Where?” Warring desires plague Harry. He badly wants to suggest his place, even though he knows there’s more than a fifty percent chance he’s reading Teddy all wrong, and besides, Ron and Hermione are likely still there eating dinner, and how would he explain that? If only he could magically whisk them away without them even knowing it. Could he kick them out without explaining? Maybe Teddy will take him home to his…

But all Teddy says is two words, full of promise. “You’ll see.”

~*~

They hop on the tube. It's rather crowded for a Tuesday night, and he and Teddy end up holding onto the centre pole, smushed between two blokes. Teddy's hand slips down over Harry's. "Sorry," he mouths, and grips just under him, but his hip presses flush to Harry's front and when the train pulls into the next station and slows to a stop, he brushes right against Harry's cock.

That, Harry notices, he doesn't apologize for.

As hard as Harry tries to tamp his arousal down, his dick pays him no mind and stirs, growing thick against Teddy's hip. Teddy either doesn't notice or is far too nice to say anything. Harry fights a blush, glancing anywhere but at Teddy, when Teddy grabs his arm to tug him through the crowd. "This is our stop."

Harry lets out a shaky breath of relief and pushes his way to the doors with Teddy. They make it through the throng and up the stairs to the fresh night air. Harry breathes in, hoping the slight chill might dampen anything going down below. His jeans are loose enough, he shouldn't be too obvious, but it's rather uncomfortable walking around with a hard-on. 

And Teddy hasn't let go of his arm. Harry finds it rather nice and doesn't try to pull away. 

Teddy leads him down a block and ducks into an alley--there at the end on the other side of the street is a large neon sign done up in rainbow colours: _HEAVEN._

"This where we're going?"

"Have you been?" Teddy asks. Harry shakes his head no, glancing along the queue line--the full length of it becoming clear as they get closer. 

"Don't worry," Teddy says. "I know a bloke. It's just…" Teddy stops Harry just before they cross the street. "They're very anti-hetero here. No hets allowed, yeah?"

"Guess it's good I'm gay."

"Well, yes, but…you don't much look it, do you?"

Harry raises his eyebrows. 

"No, no, you look…you're fit, all right? Completely, but--you don't scream homo, if you know what I mean. Let's just…." Casually as anything, Teddy flicks open the top two buttons of Harry's shirt. Harry's pulse flutters with the brush of his fingers as he pulls Harry's shirt open just a bit. "That's better, but I'm going to hang on you, a bit. If that's all right."

"No, yeah… of course." Harry clears his throat. "Whatever you need to…"

"Oh really?" Teddy grins. He slides closer and plays with the opening of Harry's shirt. "Put your arm around me--my waist, yes, like that."

Harry does as asked, feeling every inch of Teddy's shirt where it presses against his skin. "Like this?"

"Mmm, yeah, now put your hand in my back pocket."

Harry fumbles, feeling like an unexperienced twelve year-old trying to sneak in a grope, even though Teddy's practically asking for one, and finds the back pocket of Teddy's jeans. They're tight--almost too tight--but fighting a blush, Harry manages to shove his hand down. 

Teddy leans in, whispering, "Now give us a squeeze, will you?"

"A squeeze?" Harry's heart thumps in his throat. He freezes. Teddy grins--a hiccup of a laugh comes from his throat. 

"Oh Harry--you wrote _The Chamber of Whispers_ , _Phoenix Rising_ \--you're Harry bleeding Potter. Of course they're going to let you in."

Harry releases Teddy, face aflame, but Teddy's smile is magic and though Harry feels like a right tosser, when Teddy smiles, he doesn't much mind. 

"You wanker," Harry says. Teddy winks, grabs Harry's hand again, and tugs him to cross the street. 

"How else was I going to get a proper grope tonight? You're far too much of a gentleman, Harry Potter."

Harry's not sure how to take that, but decides Teddy's just having a laugh. He's young and just taking Harry out on the town, out for the night because he's bored or because he's got nothing else better to do, or because his mate stood him up. Whatever the reason, Harry's certain Teddy's not really interested. 

They bypass the queue; Harry hears a lot of grumbling, but Teddy waves at the bouncer--a tall beefy looking bloke in black named Mark--and says, "He's with me," pointing back to Harry. A different bloke, short with stocky muscles, dressed in matching black, opens the door for them at Mark's behest. "Cheers!" Teddy yells over his shoulder. 

They come into a large hallway; the walls are exposed brick, the ceiling all metal pipes and aluminum tubes. They pass by a coat check, a couple of closed doors--several people milling around with half-empty beers and sloshing martinis. Two women are pressed against the brick outside of one of the closed doors--pawing at each other's clothes, kissing mouths, jaws, necks--until one grasps the doorknob and tugs the door open, pulling the other inside. Teddy tugs on Harry's hand again. 

"Maybe later," he says. 

"What?" Harry's not quite sure what he's talking about, but Teddy just laughs and says, "Come on."

They hit two large double-doors that swing open when they approach and loud music spills out into the hallway, the bass throbbing so hard Harry can feel it in his blood. The whole place looks like one large dance floor filled with a mess of bodies with bright neon lights cascading down from the ceiling, drawing different shapes into the crowd below. 

Teddy's already moving to the music, moving as if it's infected him. It fills him up and spills freely through the swing of his hips, the sway of his arms. He's drawn to the dance floor as if it’s pulling him like a magnet. He beckons Harry with the curl of his fingers and Harry can't say he doesn't feel tempted to just lose himself in this sea of people, to move along with the crashing waves and get swept up in the tide, but he's frozen in place, at this invisible line he can't seem to cross. 

"I'm gonna get a drink," he hollers, but he can barely hear himself outside his own mind. He points to the bar instead at the far corner. "You want?" 

Teddy waves at him. Harry's not sure if that's a yes or a no, and decides to buy two shots anyway, figuring he'll likely need the second if Teddy declines. He carefully makes his way around the edge of the dance floor, bobbing around swinging elbows and the swish of a pony tail. He gets up the short stack of stairs leading to the bar and waits for an opening. While he waits, he scans the dance floor for a bob of bright blue hair. He thinks he's caught a glimpse when a bloke bumps into him, nearly pushing him back down the stairs. 

"Watch it old man," the bloke slurs. He doesn't look a day over sixteen--Harry wonders how he even got in here. He's shirtless with a pale, unformed chest, skin smeared in rainbow glitter. "Ugh, pedo," he mutters. Harry shakes his head--he must have misheard, but the look of disgust on the boy's face is unmistakable. 

Harry turns to the bar; he'd rather curl up inside his overly big button-up and hide. He fumbles with the top buttons, closing them up, before trying to get the bartender's attention. 

It feels like ages--it's probably not more than five minutes, but as the bartender seems to serve everyone else but him--even those that squeezed up to the bar after him--Harry feels right invisible. _Just what you wanted,_ he thinks. Finally the bloke behind the bar nods to him and Harry shouts out "Two shots--the strongest of whatever you've got." 

A few minutes later, he's double-fisting two glasses of pale amber liquid, scanning the dance floor again for Teddy's unmistakable hair. But among the half-dressed blokes writhing against one another and a smattering of ladies, grinding and groping, sliding hands up skirts and grasping tightly clad trousered hips and arses, Harry can't find the one person he's looking for--the only reason he's here. He gulps down one shot and it burns so much he nearly coughs it back out and onto the floor. He squeezes his eyes shut and mutters, "Fuck it," and tips back the second. His eyes water; his chest and cheeks burn with heat. Once he gets a hold of himself, his gaze lands on the boy from earlier. The boy glares daggers and Harry quickly averts his eyes. 

_What are you doing here?_

Harry feels overdressed and not young enough for the proper dress code, which clearly includes some amount of glitter and a lack of significant clothing all around. He edges back down around the dance floor; he can't help but try to find Teddy--and then in the middle, he catches a glimpse of him between the rippling bodies. Teddy's head's thrown back and his arms are raised high up, swaying back and forth. Two blokes crowd him on either side, but he doesn't seem to be paying attention to them at all. His hips slide back and forth, liquid music moving through his body. He's beautiful. 

Harry swallows thickly and retreats through the double doors, feet thudding the concrete floors with a crushing finality.

~*~

The note lies next to a sink piled high full of dishes.

_Enjoyed dinner, but next time you invite us over, perhaps stick around, yeah? Don't worry, Hermione's not too fussed about it. We left you the cleanup. Figured it was the least you could do. Ring us tomorrow.  
-R_

Harry sighs as he pulls on his dishwashing gloves, then carefully removes the piles of plates and the pan below. He turns on the faucet and plugs the drain as the water heats up, then pours a generous amount of dish cleaner and watches the soap bubble. He wonders how badly he's in for it with Hermione. _Not too fussed_. Harry snorts. Ron's underplaying it, that much he's certain. Maybe she'll forgive him if he tells her he was on a date. With a man seventeen years his junior. Harry shuts off the water before it spills onto the countertops and shakes his head. No, definitely NOT going to tell her. 

He grabs the pan and slips it into the full sink when his doorbell chimes. 

"Great," Harry mutters under his breath. Probably Hermione not able to wait until tomorrow to properly lecture him on what a horrid host he is. How worried she was; what could be so important to abandon his guests? He drops the pan and strips off a glove and the doorbell chimes again. 

"Coming!" he calls out and hurries over before Hermione begins knocking and possibly disturbing his neighbors. But when he swings open the door, it's not Hermione standing at his threshold. 

"How are you here?" Harry asks. Teddy raises his eyebrows. He stands with arms folded over his chest, tapping one foot with a particular slant to his lips. Harry's not sure if he's amused or annoyed. Perhaps both. "I mean, hi…but--"

"I've changed my mind. You're not very much a gentleman at all, are you, Harry Potter?" He pushes in with a palm to Harry's chest, until Harry's back hits the wall of his foyer. Teddy swings the door closed with a foot. "You left me all alone." 

"I--"

"Didn't offer to walk me home--"

"Teddy, I--"

Teddy leans close. He drags a finger along the line of Harry's chin. "Not even a kiss goodnight," he breathes. 

Harry swallows thickly. That fast-becoming-familiar arousal starts coursing through him, like whenever Teddy is this close. "I'm sorry," he says haltingly. "I didn't know--I didn't think--"

"What? That I was interested?" Teddy angles his head; his face blurs as he leans even closer, but Harry can see the slash of his smile. "You're so bloody oblivious, you know that?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Don't be sorry. Just kiss me." Teddy wraps his hand around Harry's neck and pulls him the rest of the way, and then his lips are on Harry's and they're kissing and it's the most glorious kiss Harry's ever experienced. Harry opens his mouth and Teddy licks inside. Harry grabs his waist, slides a hand beneath Teddy's loosened t-shirt when Teddy pulls back and yelps. 

"Maybe take that wet thing off?" he says, tugging at Harry's still-gloved hand. 

"Right," Harry says sheepishly. He peels the offending thing off and tosses it on the floor. Teddy's on him again before he even finishes, staving off Harry's mortification on having left it on in the first place. He kisses Harry deeply, grasping Harry's hips and pulling them flush against his own. Harry feels Teddy's cock, hard and hungry, against his thigh. His own pulses and jerks and he can't help but rock his hips, seeking friction nestled against Teddy's thigh. Teddy grinds against him, moans in his mouth. "Bedroom?" he asks between breathless kisses. Harry tugs him down the hall, nearly tripping over his own feet. He can't quite believe this is happening, but Teddy's hands are real, stripping off his shirt, sliding over his back and around to his chest. Teddy's lips are alive against his, his breath is hot. His pulse jumps as Harry slides a hand around his neck and cups the curve. His skin is soft and hot and flush with sweat. This isn't a dream, a stray fantasy at the shop. He's going to have sex with Teddy bloody…

"What's your last name?" Harry asks abruptly. Teddy's eyes sparkle. He pushes through the door Harry's been leading him too and strips off his own shirt. 

"Need to know my last name before you'll put your cock in me?" 

Harry's cock jerks hard; his entire body throbs. "Er, yeah…something like that," he tries to say casually but his voice croaks in the middle. Teddy grins. 

"Lupin," he answers. "Teddy Lupin." He starts undoing Harry's jeans, opening the platt and shoving them down Harry's thighs. He eyes Harry's cock hungrily for a brief moment before he palms it through Harry's pants, straight out, squeezing and rubbing. "Fuck, you've been hiding this all night?"

Harry's eyes threaten to roll into the back of his head. He groans loudly, embarrassingly, but his hips are moving without his consent, fully giving in to Teddy's touch. 

"You're gonna fuck me with this," Teddy says lowly. He moves closer, trapping his arm between their bodies, and squeezes. "You're gonna fuck me so hard."

Gibberish spills from Harry's lips, masked with his groan. It must be enough of an affirmation for Teddy, and he steps back, eyes glittering, leaving Harry hard and wanting. He undoes his jeans and shimmies out of them, revealing his tight bright turquoise pants. His dick is on full display, outlined in cotton, pointing up to his hip bone. He turns around and leans over Harry's bed, bracing himself on the end of it. "Come on, Harry," he says, voice raspy with an edge of desperation, and that sound shoots straight to Harry's cock. "Do it."

Emboldened, Harry steps out of his loosened jeans and presses himself flush against Teddy's arse. They're both still clothed in pants, but his dick throbs desperately, nestled down between Teddy's butt cheeks as far as he can with their pants in the way. He grabs Teddy's hips, lets his palms slide down and around and up the front of Teddy's thighs. Finally he lets himself shove a hand into the front of Teddy's pants and grabs his cock. He gives Teddy an experimental stroke--Teddy's so silky-hard against his palm, so smooth, so hot. He thumbs the slit and feels a drop of pre-come splash against his thumb. Fierce desire races through him as Teddy shivers against him, breathing hard. 

"I'll fuck you when I'm ready," Harry murmurs, heat clear in his voice. When Teddy moans in response, Harry feels it through his entire body. 

"You've thought about this before, haven't you?" Teddy whines. He's moving his hips in time with Harry's short strokes; tension radiates from his body. "You've thought about fucking me."

Even with his hand wrapped about Teddy's dick, Harry's face still burns with the question. He has--of course he fucking has. Lately every time he's settled into a wank, he can't properly get off without his favourite fantasy. 

As if reading his mind, Teddy says, "Tell me." 

"Yeah," Harry says. He presses his face into Teddy's neck and breathes hard. "Yes."

"Mmm," Teddy moans. "What do you do to me, Harry?" Teddy thrusts his ass back into Harry's erection and shimmies his hips. Harry's rhythm falters for a moment as his dick throbs with the movement. "Where are we--let me guess," his voice turns teasing, but catches in his throat with Harry's next stroke. "We're at the shop, aren't we?"

"Yeah," Harry admits, "you're in your apron." He can't believe he's saying this out loud, or rather muffled, into Teddy's neck. His entire face flushes, but he's so damned turned on he can't seem to stop his mouth. "And nothing else."

Teddy laughs a bit--not enough to get Harry to stop--but Harry flushes further anyway. 

"God, yes, always wanted to be fucked in that apron."

"Really?"

"Mmmhmm. By my favourite customer." Teddy's voice goes breathy. Harry speeds up his strokes. "Do you bend me over right there? Right over the register?"

"Yes," Harry says; his dick slides hotly against Teddy's arse. He badly wants to strip the rest of the way; feel Teddy's tight bum wrapped around his cock, the shallowness of his cleft; the hot flush of his cheeks. "I need you," he breathes. It's an admission he might not have made under any other circumstances, but he's lost in his desire, lost in arousal, lost in the feel of Teddy's body undulating against his own. He releases Teddy and peels off his pants, shoving them down Teddy's legs. Teddy kicks them away and crawls onto the bed, spreading his knees wide, displaying himself. 

"Fuck," Harry says, the word drawn out of him unknowingly. His body flushes with heat, with pure desire. He quickly strips off his own pants and his cock bobs free. Teddy looks over his shoulder, eyes hungry, and licks his lips. 

"Fuck is right," he says. Harry watches Teddy's cock leak onto the bedding. He climbs up behind Teddy but can't help but dip down and lick down Teddy's ass. His tongue follows the curve of his cheek from cleft to right up against Teddy's rim. Teddy starts moaning uncontrollably, a stream of "fuck yes" spilling from his lips. Harry licks down even further, draws a ball into his mouth and sucks on it. He grabs Teddy's cock again and starts to pull. Teddy's whole body shudders and he gives a great big yelp and then he's coming already, shooting ropes of white onto Harry's duvet. Harry continues to stroke, slowing just a little. He releases Teddy's ball with a soft pop and licks back up to Teddy's rim. Teddy shoves his arse into Harry's face, moaning and shaking. 

"Don't stop--don't you bloody--"

"I'm not stopping," Harry says, voice low and raspy. "Not bloody stopping until you come again."

Harry can't believe the words coming from his mouth--he doesn't talk like this--he's never talked like this. Sex before has always been pleasurable, but this--his body's never felt like this; he's never felt so lost in someone--and he's not even fucking Teddy yet. He slips his tongue out to taste Teddy again, to loosen up the rim and lick inside. He tongue-fucks Teddy until Teddy is shaking again, until his thighs are quivering and he's a pleading mess. 

"Fuck, please," Teddy says. He sounds as if he's almost crying. Harry's never ripped a condom package open faster in his life. His fingers fumble as he slides it over his dick. He grabs the lube off the end table, slicks himself up all while Teddy's fisting Harry's bedclothes as if they are the only things keeping him grounded. 

"Please, I'm ready--fuck--"

Harry pulls back and straightens. He drags his hands over Teddy's arse, palming and squeezing before spreading him wide. Teddy whimpers, "God yes, do it!" And Harry lines up his cock and pushes in. 

The heat is incredible and nearly does him in right at the start, right with just the tip of his cock inside. He pushes in further, slow and steady. Teddy gasps and Harry feels it, all around him. "You all right?" Harry says, breathless and shaky. 

"Fuck, yes--just yes--just bloody move," Teddy says. He pushes back into Harry and Harry slides all the way inside. They both cry out. Harry feels the echo of it in his cock. His thighs shake and Teddy clenches around him. He starts fucking, properly, a swift, jerky pace. He can feel himself drawing close to the edge already; his heavy balls draw up, heat flashes over his thighs. He reaches around and grabs Teddy's dick again and it throbs hard in his fist. And he's jerking him off as fast as he can, hips racing as Teddy bucks back over and over. His orgasm crests over him and he comes hard, shooting into Teddy's tight quivering body. And before he completely loses his rhythm, he feels the splash of come over his knuckles as Teddy lets out a long high-pitched cry. 

Harry collapses on top of Teddy's sagging body and tears spring into his eyes.

~*~

He must have passed out because the next thing Harry knows, his face is in a pillow and a delicious soreness aches in his thighs. A click of a lighter draws his focus. He turns his head and finds Teddy there, still gloriously nude, propped up against his headboard and taking a deep drag off a cigarette. Teddy's eyes fall on him.

"You mind?" he asks, waving the fag. Harry shakes his head. He doesn't feel capable of speech at the moment. 

He rolls away from Teddy, strips off his used condom and tosses it into a rubbish bin by the bed. It lands with a squish--it should be disgusting. But it's proof of what he still can't quite believe actually happened. Is still happening. Teddy, blue-haired sex-god, Lupin lies in his bed. Post shag. Harry grins at the rubbish bin, thankful Teddy can't see. He nearly pinches himself to make sure he's awake. Instead he rolls back to face Teddy and hesitantly runs a hand along Teddy's thigh, and stares at his spent cock, resting on his balls. Balls Harry licked and sucked. He's real. Teddy's real. 

"How did you find my house?" Harry looks up. "Not that I'm complaining--"

"Photographic memory."  Teddy snuffs out his cigarette and scoots down, lying back next to Harry. "I looked at your license." He taps his head. “It's all up here."  

"Ah."

"Nowhere near my shop, I noticed." 

"Oh--I…" Harry starts, but there's no way in bleeding hell he'll be able to come up with an excuse with his sex-fogged brain.

"I noticed at least one right around the corner on my way here. And it can't be closer to work since…you work at home, right? You write here? Or do you have an office near that dreadful pub you took me to."

"No office," Harry admits. Teddy's eyes shimmer and he's grinning a bit and Harry can't help but grin a bit back. "Your shop is just…it's better."

"Better?"

"Better produce." Harry can't keep a straight face and Teddy openly laughs, shaking his head. 

"Better produce, huh."

"Yes, it's important to get it fresh, you know. The melons. And onions. And things." 

"Riiight." Teddy nods. He rolls over, pressing his back to Harry's chest, and grabs Harry's arm, wrapping it around his waist. "So you'll keep coming to mine?" His voice has the same casual confidence from when he asked Harry to go for a drink, but there's something else beneath. Something vulnerable.

"Yes," Harry says quickly. No use in denying it. All his cards are on the table now. "As long as…well, you know."

Teddy glances over his shoulder. "Our produce stays up to snuff?"

"Among other things," Harry murmurs. He presses his face into Teddy's neck and breathes. 

"I'm always up to snuff."

"I don't doubt it," Harry says. He presses a kiss into Teddy's neck and Teddy makes a low noise of approval that sends skitters across Harry's tired body.

"You have any leftovers from that dinner tonight?"

"Er….maybe? I could check?"

"In a little while." Teddy squeezes Harry's hand and snuggles further into the pillows. "Maybe for breakfast."

Harry presses his palm to Teddy's chest, feels it rise and fall with the deepening of his breath, and grins into Teddy's neck. 

"Anything you want." 

And unsurprisingly, Harry very well means it.


End file.
